


Whatever She Wants

by ladyoneill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Nogitsune Trauma, Post-Nogitsune, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:16:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an AU where Stiles wasn't separated from the Nogitsune until after the tunnels, the monster uses his body to hurt one of the people he truly loves...and there are consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever She Wants

**Author's Note:**

> I started this months ago for the trope bingo prompt: against all odds; but I just couldn't find the impetus to finish it until tonight. There is discussion of options concerning an unplanned pregnancy. There is also discussion of rape, though nothing graphic. See the endnotes for just what happened.

Stiles doesn't understand how she can even look at him, let alone touch him. During the final battle with the Nogitsune, he relied on her literally to hold him up, but after, when he could finally process the memories from the possession, and everything he did flooded into his damaged mind...

How can she stand to be anywhere near him?

There's no wariness about her. His first day back at school, she takes his arm and drags him into English class, talking about getting him up to speed as soon as possible on the _Grapes of Wrath_. Stunned, he tries to shy away from her, but she's a force of nature and won't let go, won't let him crawl inside himself.

Lydia, more than anyone, keeps Stiles anchored in reality, and he's grateful, but he doesn't understand.

What he did to her...she should run screaming from him. She should demand his father arrest him.

She shouldn't smile at him and hold his hand.

Every time, Stiles tries to pull away and she won't let him.

But, after that first week, he notices something.

Lydia never talks about the four days he was possessed. When anyone mentions it, she skillfully changes the subject. All his other friends, his dad, assure him none of what happened was his fault. There's no evidence--the Nogitsune handily shorted out the cameras at the hospital and station and somehow left no fingerprints--and his dad is determined to put this behind them. He mentions therapy, but that means Morell and Stiles doesn't want to talk to her and never wants to see Eichen House again.

He remembers what happened there, too, and the first meeting with Malia is awkward until she punches him in the shoulder, tells him it was fun, but she's still getting used to walking on two legs and certainly isn't ready to date anyone. She also informs him that he didn't pup her. Jesus. He quickly shoves that awkward image out of his mind.

Stiles is glad Malia has no interest in him for many reasons, mostly because if he thinks about that couch in the basement of Eichen House with her, his mind goes to Lydia and a filthy stone corridor and the smell of her fear.

He...can't...

The weeks pass. He tries not to think about the possession, what his hands did, his mouth said. He tries to focus on the now, and, for the most part, it works.

But, at night...that's when everything goes to Hell. The nightmarish images pound into his mind and, if he's lucky, he wakes screaming. But, most nights he's trapped in the horror of everything he did, tastes the ashes from the explosion, smells the acrid scents of blood and bile from the dead, sees the destruction and the chaos he caused.

Feels her tiny body struggling against his, her fists beating at him.

Hears her choked off cries.

Sees her biting her lip to hold in pleas.

Oh God...

OhGodohGodohGod...

Those nights nearly destroy him.

Nearly eight weeks after the night that everything happened and everything ended, Stiles wakes to a roiling stomach and barely makes it the bathroom before he's vomiting into the toilet. The helpless heaving seems to go on forever and, by the time there's nothing left in his stomach, he's crying and shaking, sweat pouring down his face and soaking the back and underarms of his t-shirt, and his dad is there, rocking him, murmuring to him.

"It'll be okay, son."

No...nothing's ever going to be okay.

The image of Lydia pressed to the filthy stone wall, held helplessly by his body, the terror and pain in her eyes...

Yanking away from his dad, he grabs the rim of the toilet and retches again, bringing up only watery bile.

"Oh, Stiles..." His dad's hand on his back feels comforting, but he doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve to be soothed, when he...when he...

Biting back a scream, he curls into a ball on the floor and just shakes.

He falls asleep there, his dad's hand firm on his back.

Lydia isn't in school that day, or the next. She doesn't answer his texts either and her phone goes straight to voicemail. Stiles spends those two days in a fog, worrying about her, but unable to go to her. She always comes to him. He can't...he can't...

On the third day, he finds himself on her doorstep. When her mom opens the door, he notices that she doesn't look happy. A few wisps of hair are out of place, her mascara is smeared a bit. Foreboding fills Stiles, but he asks for Lydia and is told to go up.

"Maybe you can get her to tell me what's wrong."

So, her mom doesn't know either? The foreboding gives way to trepidation, but Stiles forces himself to go upstairs, to knock on Lydia's door.

"Go away, mom."

Her voice is so dull. Stiles' breath hitches in his throat and he gulps, then knocks again and croaks out, "It's me."

There's silence, long and worrisome. Sweat breaks out on his forehead, his palms. Something is really wrong. She's been so strong. So...present. Somehow she put it all behind her.

Or maybe she didn't. Maybe it's all been a mask to hide behind.

He understands masks very well.

The opening of the door startles him and he stumbles back. Lydia looks...bad. Pale, hair tangled, unbathed, make-up free. Wearing a pair of shorts and an overlarge and worn thin 49ers t-shirt, she looks all too human.

All too beaten.

"Lydia?"

She doesn't meet his eyes, instead focusing past him as she steps back to let him in, then closes the door behind them.

A quick glance around the room reveals a lot--it's messy, the bed unmade, a couple untouched sandwiches on the desk, empty water bottles on the floor.

Lydia is never messy, in her appearance, or her surroundings.

Something is very, very wrong.

Stiles watches her crawl into her bed and curl on her side facing away from him and he feels helpless. This isn't Lydia.

Not his...

No, she was never, will never be his.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he grabs a poofy little purple and silver chair and drags it over to the bed, sitting and facing her. She doesn't look at him, just burrows her face in her pillow.

"Lydia, please talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. I...I can help."

A snort of derision comes from the pillow and that lightens his heart just a bit because it's so like her. He can almost ignore the tremors in her shoulder and the tangled hair covering her cheek.

"I can try," he whispers. "I...maybe we should talk?"

Suddenly, she shoves up on her hip and there's anger snapping in her eyes. He flinches back. "Yeah, we should talk. We should talk about everything we've avoided talking about because there are consequences now."

He feels himself paling because...because, despite coming here, despite forcing himself to come here, he's not ready to do this, to talk, to admit...everything.

"For nearly two months I've pushed it aside. It wasn't really you. Just your body, but you weren't in charge. _You_ wouldn't do that to me. I can compartmentalize with the best of them," Lydia snarls, sitting up fully and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed so her knees brush his.

He flinches back again.

"You didn't want to talk about it, even think about it, I could tell. So, I put on a smile and I took your arm and I forgave you for something you didn't even do. Except, Stiles, in a way, you did do it. Your body did it." Her voice rises in volume and speed and Stiles can only gape at her in fear and concern and self-hatred. " _Your_ very human body. Guess what hasn't happened since about ten days before that night, Stiles. _Guess_!" Her face florid, she's panting now, and he's not stupid.

Stiles knows.

Oh fuck...

He can't swallow. He can't breathe. Useless tears sting his eyes and he collapses forward, buries his face in her knees, and she lets him.

She still lets him touch her.

In contrast to her verbal anger, the hand on his back is gentle.

He doesn't deserve that.

He deserves fury, blows. He deserves to be arrested, to be fucking castrated. He...

He doesn't deserve to cry.

Slowly, Stiles forces away the tears and his body back up. His breathing is still ragged, but he's holding off the panic because Lydia needs him coherent.

She needs him to man up.

"Have you seen a doctor?" His voice sounds like it's full of razor blades.

Shaking her head, Lydia admits, "I took a half-dozen tests over the last two days. All positive."

He remembers waking up in the middle of the night a couple days ago, ending up vomiting helplessly. He wonders if there's some kind of connection between them, more than...

"What are you going to do?"

"I...don't know." That seems to puzzle her, because Lydia Martin confused is just wrong, too. "I don't even know...if it's human," she admits, her voice tinged with fear. "I haven't made you talk about that night, but, do you...do you remember?"

Yeah, they haven't talked about it, but, he can't hide from her or the truth any longer. So, facing this.

"Yeah. Everything. I...I, God, Lydia, I didn't want that. I'm so sorry," spills out finally.

"I know. I know you are, Stiles. It's why I...pushed that aside. I knew you weren't in control. I hoped you didn't remember it all."

"I'm so sorry I hurt you," he says faintly.

"It wasn't you," she snaps back, color high on her cheeks. "Even with all the pointless wallowing I've been doing since I realized what was wrong, I've always known that. I've never blamed you."

"I didn't need to let it in!"

"You're not fucking Superman."

Stiles gapes at her. Lydia never swears. Her answer is another snort as she runs her fingers through her hair, grimacing at the knots.

"Okay, I'm going to take a quick shower and change out of these disgusting clothes. You are going to go downstairs and ask my mother to make fresh sandwiches for both of us. I want tuna with relish."

"Um...okay?"

"And then we're going to eat, because I'm finally hungry again and you look like a wraith, and talk and figure out what to do."

"I'll...do anything you want."

"Yeah, I know." Gently, a bit sadly, she brushes her fingers over his cheek, before heading for the bathroom.

Watching her go, Stiles marvels at the strength in her, worries about what the Hell they're going to do, and really...just can't face that she's pregnant and it's his.

He goes downstairs to request food.

*****

After deflecting every question her mother asked, he returns to the bedroom, one plate in hand, two bottles of water dangling between the fingers of the other, to find Lydia wrapped in a robe, hair twisted up in a towel, seated on her bed smoothing lotion on her leg.

It's so fucking normal.

Swallowing hard, Stiles sets the plate down next to her and the bottles on her night stand, then retakes his seat. He can't sit on the bed with her.

Not unless she explicitly asks.

Everything is in her control now, because, because...he took that from her that night.

Stomach rolling, he ignores his own sandwich--ham and cheese with tomato and mustard--and watches Lydia daintily take a bite of hers.

"Have you...been sick?"

"In the middle of the night, not morning," she replies sourly.

Yeah, some kind of connection exists.

"Eat."

"I..." Shaking his head helplessly, Stiles just watches her frown and devour her sandwich before reaching for the water. 

"You're thin as a rail, Stiles."

"I can't...not now. It won't stay down," he admits miserably, though this time the sickness he's feeling is because of the memories hitting him as well as all the scattered thoughts about what the Hell they're going to do now and what his dad is going to say and just...everything.

After taking a sip of water, Lydia sighs and sets the bottle and plate on the table, then scoots back to lean against the pillows piled up on her bed. While he was gone, she tugged up the comforter and added a bunch of purple and silver cushions. It's so...girly. So her.

He waits for her to start talking. For one, he has no clue where to start. He's pretty sure continuing to beg for forgiveness she's already granted will just piss her off.

What she starts off with makes him want to curl into a ball and die.

"The Nogitsune raped me in your body," Lydia says baldly. "I came to terms with that because, frankly, what else was I going to do? It hurt. I healed. I lost something much more important that night."

Allison.

Stiles drops his eyes to his knees, sees his hands are clutched around them, the knuckles white. Trying to relax them is futile. He shakily breathes.

"I forgave you because it wasn't you. I knew, if you were aware, you were screaming and fighting as best you could. I know you would never hurt anyone like that. It's simply not in your nature." Her voice softens a bit as she speaks, but he still can't look at her. "Those first few weeks, every time you flinched from me, couldn't look at me, tried to get away from him, every time you looked so guilty, I knew that you knew, but I wasn't ready to face it. I never planned to. But, now, Stiles, we have to talk about it. We have to face it." She goes quiet.

"I know," he whispers into that quiet moment.

"Can you look at me?" 

Because she asks so nicely, without a hint of anger or frustration, he forces himself to lift his face, because, again, anything she wants.

"Not the details," Lydia amends. "I don't want to relive any of that, but that moment created a baby. I don't know what it'll be. If it's that thing's or yours or some combination. Throw in my own genetic differences, and, yes, I've tested my dna and found them, and this baby could be...anything," she whispers, and Stiles jerks his eyes to hers, sees a flash of pain and fear there, and he can't help it. He reaches out for her.

Taking his hand, Lydia drags him down onto the bed next to her, their shoulders brushing, their hands remaining entwined.

Because she wants it.

"There are two options. Abort it or keep it."

"...Adoption?" he voices what he assumes is a third option.

"We can't risk giving away a potentially supernatural baby to a normal couple or person, Stiles," is her flat answer.

Oh, yeah, makes sense.

"Um...I have some money saved..."

"I don't need money." Lydia's not cold about it, just truthful, but still he cringes a bit because, the guy is supposed to step up with money, right? "I need you here for me, whatever path we choose. Can you do that?"

"Wait, we? But, this is your choice." He was raised to believe it was always the girl's choice.

"We're in this together," she replies firmly, her fingers tightening just a fraction in his. "If I go through with the pregnancy, I won't do it alone."

"Of...of course," he stammers, his mind whirling as his future possibly tumbles in a direction he never planned.

"I don't have a moral issue with abortion. I never gave a thought to having a child before I turned thirty and won the Field's Medal. If I have it, I don't plan to have my goals delayed. I have a trust fund. I'm sure I can convince my father to open it early in order to pay for a nanny. I'll graduate high school with our class and go to MIT for early summer admittance, just as I've planned."

She sounds more and more like she's made the decision already. Stiles is...conflicted. He's nowhere near ready to be a father, but he also doesn't see a place for him in the future she's outlined. And, so, he has to know. "Lydia, where do I fit in all this?"

"As father of the baby. As co-parent. Even with a full time nanny, I'm not going to do this alone. The baby is your responsibility, too. You were possessed at its conception, but you could just have easily been drunk. You'd take responsbility for the latter, right?"

"Of course." It's not a perfect analogy, but he'll let it slide. "So, it sounds like that's the route you're planning."

He feels her startle beside him and a part of him is relieved that she's not as composed as she seems, especially since he's a huge mess.

"I...guess I have." Pulling slightly away from him, she rises to her knees to face him, and he forces himself to look at her. "Do you think I should have an abortion?"

Yes. She should. The...baby was created by rape. How can she want it? Love it? A monster...it could be a monster raped into her by a monster...

He's not breathing, and Lydia's lips are on his in a desperate kiss that leaves him gasping and shaking like a leaf.

"Don't do that!"

"Su--so--sorry." Exhausted, Stiles collapses into the cushions and Lydia curls next to him, holding their entwined hands over his pounding heart.

"Jesus, Stiles, I know you're freaking out, but I need you to calm down and be here for me."

"I am. I am. I just...I don't understand how you can want it," he finally whispers as she lays her head down onto his shoulder.

"I don't blame the baby. I don't blame _you_ , idiot." There's actually affection in her voice, and hearing it, the familiar mockery, Stiles starts to relax just a fraction.

But... "I blame myself."

"And we're going to work on that." He can almost hear her eyes roll and sighs softly.

"Okay, so...you're going to have it. Okay, I can...I can handle that." Maybe. But, if she can, he'll force himself to. "We'll have to tell people, our parents." Oh, Jesus, dad's going to shoot him in the foot at the least. 

"My mother first, then your dad. My father's in Beijing until Sunday. We'll tell him then." He doesn't get her. It's all just so matter-of-fact to her. All Stiles wants to do is panic and flail and bury his head in the sand.

"Do we...what do we tell them about..."

"We were stupid. The condom broke and I should have gotten RU-486, but I didn't. Nothing about the Nogitsune or the rape."

Yeah, probably for the best. Teenage idiocy, not a criminal act.

"Okay."

They lie there in silence for a few minutes, before Lydia sits up again and reaches across him for the plate. "Are you going to eat this?"

The way his stomach is still churning? Stiles shakes his head.

"Mind if I do?"

An almost smile twitches at his lips. "Go for it."

It's amazing how such a tiny thing can inhale such a thick ham sandwich in under a minute.

*****

While Stiles hovers nervously in the background, Lydia tells her mother. Mrs. Martin is visibly disappointed, huffs several times, glares at Stiles--completely blaming him, which he's fine with because he completely blames himself, too--and delicately tries to convince Lydia to get an abortion. After several minutes of that, she finally gives up and calls her daughter stubborn.

They leave her muttering about how she's too young to be a grandmother.

"She's...actually...That's her way of accepting," Lydia finally admits, as they climb into the jeep to head to Stiles' house. "I think she'll be a good grandmother. While she's kind of an absent parent, mostly that's because I don't need a mom very often. When I do, she's always there for me."

"Lydia, you don't need to justify your mom. I can tell she loves you. We did shock the Hell out of her."

"Yeah. I suppose we did." She sighs softly. "You know, I never show her the real me. I guess, in her eyes, I'm playing into the stereotype I do show her."

Families are weird. Stiles keeps his mouth shut as he turns onto his street, but a slow dread creeps over him. His dad is...not going to take this as well.

And a part of Stiles really feels he should confess the truth.

Being the son of a Sheriff rears its ugly head sometimes.

His dad's official SUV is in the driveway. It's nearly dinner time and he actually worked a short, day shift for once. Stiles supposes praying for a serial killing spree to call him away is probably the wrong tack.

He and Lydia enter the house to find John Stilinski in his favorite chair watching the news, which he mutes when they join him.

"Hey, kiddo. Lydia. What's up?" A flash of apprehension lights his eyes for minute.

"Nothing supernatural, dad."

"We need to talk to you, Mr. Stilinski." Lydia takes a seat on the sofa and Stiles lets her pull him bonelessly down next to him. While his stomach is still in knots, the rest of him feels as limp as a dishrag.

But...he needs to man up.

Straightening his back, his hand still wrapped around Lydia's, he leans forward slightly towards his dad, who gives him a puzzled look as he notices they're holding hands.

"Is this good news?"

"Um...It's news. It's..." Stiles takes a deep breath and then just blurts it out because he'll never say anything if he doesn't. "Lydia's pregnant and it's mine. I was stupid and careless and I'm sorry. Please don't shoot me."

John stares at his son, then at Lydia, then drops his face into the palm of his hand. "Shit."

After a few minutes he finally looks up, his face a bit florid, his eyes full of disappointment, and Stiles feels like cringing, begging, anything to get that look out of his dad's eyes.

Instead, he swallows hard and accepts anything that'll happen as deserved.

"Mr. Stilinski, I'm going to have the baby and keep it." Lydia's voice is even but firm and Stiles admires that one Hell of a lot. "While at the moment Stiles and I are just really good friends, maybe that will change, but, regardless, I expect him to be with me through this, to be a father to our child."

"I wouldn't allow anything else." The edge in John's voice is tempered by resignation. "Whatever you need, Lydia, he'll do. Get a job, drop out of school, marry you, whatever." He's obviously unhappy about at least the last two possibilities.

"No father of any child of mine is going to be a high school drop out. I have a trust fund, Mr. Stilinski. I can afford the baby all on my own. It's Stiles' emotional support I want. Even if all we ever become is parents and stay friends, that's enough for me."

"I...dad...I'm prepared to do whatever Lydia wants. It's...well, not okay, but I'll deal. I did this. I know I'm just disappointing you one more time, but..."

"Stiles," his dad interrupts softly. "Yes, I'm disappointed, I'm saddened for both of you, I'm worried as well, but eventually I'm going to be proud of you for taking responsibility. And, really, did you think I never gave this possibility a thought? Even it being Lydia?"

Feeling Lydia startle in surprise, Stiles gapes at his dad. "Oh."

John sighs again, rubs his hands over his face, and rises to his feet. "I'm going out and buying the biggest t-bones I can find. Get the grill going. We have a lot more to talk about. Do you eat red meat, Lydia?"

"I love a good steak."

As his dad starts by him, Stiles finally lets go of Lydia and jumps to his feet. "Dad..."

John's strong but loving hand grips his shoulder, squeezes slightly and pulls Stiles into a hug. "It'll be okay, kiddo, I promise."

A tear leaks from his eye and he sniffles into his dad's neck. "Sorry, so sorry."

"A baby is not something to ever regret," is the whisper he gets back and another squeeze, before they slowly separate and John's lips twist just a bit. "I'm not sure I'm ready to be a granddad yet."

"You can commiserate with my mother."

With a snort, John heads out of the house, and Stiles collapses limply back on the sofa.

"I'm hungry and your dad told you to start the grill."

Turning to her, Stiles just stares in wonder at this girl...woman...amazing creature, and then he smiles and drags her into a hug. "Jesus, I don't know what the Hell we're doing. I don't understand you at all, but..."

Lydia places a kiss on his cheek. "It's all going to be okay, Stiles. We're going to make this work and we're going to drive away every bad memory of the Nogitsune, got it?"

"Got it." It's not going to be anywhere near that easy, but Stiles will agree to anything, do anything.

He's...going to be a dad.

Jesus.

"How can you still be hungry?"

Snorting, she drags him to his feet and wraps her arm around his waist to guide him weak-kneed through the kitchen and into the backyard. "At least weird cravings haven't started. Although...Do you have Sriracha sauce? I'd like that on my steak."

"Yeah, it's in the fridge. I hope dad gets some veggies."

"I'm pretty sure he's earned a free pass on healthy food for one night."

"Never."

She squeezes him close, then takes a seat at the fading redwood picnic table to watch him fumble with the charcoal and lighter fluid.

Actually...he's a bit hungry himself. Steak sounds good.

Maybe...maybe...his life isn't over after all.

"We need to tell Scott and the Pack before they scent it."

"And go see a doctor," Stiles points out.

"I'm not going to the vet," is her firm reply, and he nods quickly in agreement. 

Yeah, no Deaton...at least until they see anything odd on any scans and...this is really happening.

Stiles nearly sets himself on fire.

God...his life is really just...his screwed up life, isn't it.

Lydia snorts in amusement and swings one slender leg over the other and...Jesus, she's beautiful.

And he'll do anything for her.

That's nothing new.

End

**Author's Note:**

> The Nogitsune used Stiles' body to rape Lydia and unknowingly get her pregnant. Stiles was inside himself screaming and fighting the whole time and can't forgive himself. He doesn't understand how Lydia can.


End file.
